Shop Dead
by Ghost Kodkod
Summary: Maybe if I’d had a sister, it would’ve been different. Maybe-if I’d had a sister-it would’ve been alright. Mimato, AU. Character death. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Digimon.

* * *

Chapter One

Maybe if I'd had a sister, it would've been different. Maybe-if I'd had a sister-it would've been alright.

Girls have always knocked me out. I don't just mean the normal way girls knock you out and make you want to get your hands on them-although I feel that way too. What I mean is-girls intrigue me. Completely. I like watching them, the way they move, the way they do their nails and stuff, all the time they spend on their clothes and their hair. All the stuff other guys get fed up with.

It's like-I dunno-girls just aren't _there, _like guys are, or, you know, horses are or something. The really gorgeous ones have to make themselves up-put themselves together. It's-_creative_. That's what intrigues me.

Maybe though, as I say, if I'd had a sister, I'd have had a gutful of it all-never getting in the bathroom, watching all that clothes havoc before she went off to a club, hearing the drama if her hair went wrong. Maybe I wouldn't think it was creative. Maybe I'd think it was a pain in the arse.

And maybe then, I'd never have fallen for Mimi.

* * *

I saw her in my second week of college. I'd been wandering round ever since I got there with my tongue hanging out. All these new girls everywhere, girls I'd never seen before, all in their new gear for the start of term, no more school uniform-it was too much. I don't know how I made it to the right places to register and listen to lectures and eat. I really don't. I was in this kind of daze, just watching them all. And some of them were watching me too, because I'm not that bad looking if you want to know the truth. I'm kind of big, too. I look like I've grown up.

Anyway. There I was, wandering, and looking, all kinds of luxurious and which-one-shall-I-go-for, when I saw Mimi. I found out later that she was called Mimi. Strutting up the steps to the library, great shape, bit too thin maybe, long long legs, with all this brownish hair pulled over to one side and this neat, rusty coloured skirt and black jacket-and that was it.

I was pole axed. I staggered up the stairs after her and went into the library, flashed my card and pulled any old book off the self. Then I saw her into one of the alcoves and sit down. I followed her in and sat right down opposite her.

And I got a good look at her face.

Dangerous.

I don't know what it's like for girls when you get near someone you really fancy, but for blokes it's bad news. There's all this pumping going round your body, everything screaming sex! sex! sex!, and you feel about as obvious and lit up as the dodgems. You expect the girl you're homing in on to jump up and start screaming and whacking you, or something, but they never do. Maybe they don't realise whats going on or maybe they're just too polite to say.

Anyway. I opened my book, which had to be about quilt making, didn't it, and I sat there and pretended to read it, and looked at that amazing face. I went from her eye lids down to her nose and stayed a long while on here mouth-then I went all round her neck and into her hair and back to her eye lids again. That journey didn't help the pounding inside me. I could've done it forever.

She was flicking through this big, black book and jotting things down in a little notebook. It looked like she might be working, which was not something I could understand, the state I was in right then.

After a while, she pulled her bag towards her and rummaged inside, pulling out a little pink case thing, snapping it open and taking a look into it. It was a mirror-you could tell, just by the way she was looking into it. And then this is what killed me. She didn't do anything, just looked. Most girls would get their lippy out or flick at their hair or scrape some mark off their face, or something, but not her. She just looked and smiled, as though there was no improvement she could make.

And she was right, there wasn't. Not one thing.

Then she snapped it shut, and put it in her bag again, followed by the book and notebook, and then she looked up at me. She had stunning eyes, cinnamon coloured and clear as water. She looked into me like I was a mirror too, then stood up and walked away.

Leaving me totally wiped out. Gone.

* * *

The thing is, I'm not completely lacking in confidence around girls, not like some blokes are. I don't want to start bragging and telling you how long my track record is, but I've had a bit of experience. And that's taught me never to hunt in packs, like some blokes do. If you want a night full of loud chat and lots of beer and throwing up and absolutely no contact with the opposite sex, go round in a group of guys. But if you're really after a girl-especially one special girl, like I was-you do it on your own.

It took me three weeks to pull Mimi. I found out about her and I followed her, and made eye contact with her, and one scared day stood next to her in the canteen queue and exchanged a few comments about how crap the food was that they had to offer. Then I got chatting to some of the people she hung around with and made sure I got asked to the party she was going to on Friday night.

And then, I moved in.

* * *

Just the normal stuff. I got her a drink, and I tried to talk to her until the room got too loud for talking, then there was a bit of drunken dancing going on, and we joined in. God, she was perfect. She moved like nothing could touch her, nothing could affect her, like she was on another plane. Then after a bit, we went into the kitchen to get another drink and when we left it and walked into the dark corridor, that's when I really moved in.

That's the real test, isn't it? That's when you find out if you're on or not. Well, I was on. And I was so blown away that by the fact that she was letting me wrap my arms round her body and put my mouth on her face I suppose I didn't noticed much that she wasn't-you know. Responding.

Well, OK. Things had only just started. There was plenty of time.

* * *

It was late, and the party was coming to a bit of an abrupt finish. You know, parents arrive back, lights-switched-on, "I told you no later than two am and what the _**hell's **_that on the carpet?" So I grabbed her by the arm and towed her outside, and told her I wanted to see her again. Tomorrow.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," she said. "I'm going shopping."

I'd meant tomorrow night, of course, but I said, "Great. Let me come." I was expecting her to laugh and say something along the lines of "get lost."

But she didn't. She looked up at me, coolly, and said, "OK. I need a new dress. You can tell me what I look like in it."

Whoa. I'd never met a girl who wanted me to go shopping with them before, and I'd always rather fancied it. Hanging round the mirrors and changing rooms, trying to look blokeish and bored, watching Mimi fixated on making herself look even more gorgeous…what a turn on.

Shopping? I was on, all right.

* * *

I met Mimi at eleven o'clock outside the chip shop and she let me kiss her on the side of her face about a mile from her mouth. Then she said, "Ever been to Harum?"

"What?" I asked

"It's a shop. A completely brilliant shop. Like Biba-you heard of Biba?"

I frowned. I sort of had. "Some old hippy shop, wasn't it? My mum-"

"It wasn't just a shop. It was like a club, a special place. Somewhere you worked your life out in. Harum's the same. You go in there, you're-different. It's just-it's brilliant. I'll show you." And she turned on her heel and walked off, me following.

It was the longest speech I'd heard her make so far. I caught her up and got hold of her hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I'll say this now. There isn't going to be a happy ending to this fic, and there will be character death.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Digimon.

* * *

Chapter Two

She was right, it was a good shop. It made the other fashion shops look tame, formulaic. The minute you walked in there was this strange, purplish light cocooning you from above, with bright, white light beams searching out the racks of clothes. There were all these colours and feathers and silky things and sparkles everywhere, really female. To the left of the door there was a long black sofa, that made me want to grab Mimi and stretch out on it. The music was something I didn't know, like New Age stuff with a sting in its tail, and there was this sharp, exciting smell being pumped into the air from somewhere.

"See?" breathed Mimi, like someone on the threshold of a temple. "Isn't it _fabulous_?"

The she was off amongst the racks of clothes, a beagle on the scent and I followed. The shop seemed to go back and back, two whole floors of it, joined by curving staircases with little light bulbs like a catwalk. Whoever designed it had style, I can tell you that.

There were loads of level and platforms and spaces, with the racks and shelves making up different shapes in each. And everywhere you looked there were these classy dummies, with long, long legs and blind, beautiful faces, images of what the shoppers could be, maybe, if they'd buy the same clothes. I followed Mimi up and down and in and out, my eyes never leaving her. I watched as she held tops and skirts and dresses up against herself in front of a mirror, then in front of me and got a hundred per cent positive response from both. I stood behind her while she flicked through racks of shirts and rows of nail varnish and I breathed it all in like perfume.

She was-I don't know-_shining_. It was like she'd really come alive, in that shop. She didn't take any notice of me, but I was allowed to be there, to follow her, to watch her. She was my passport to this world, and she was queen in it too. It just about blew me away.

After a long, long time Mimi selected a couple of dresses off two different racks and headed over to where a white neon sign flashed **Changing Room **in huge, jagged letters. She disappeared through the certains, and I waited outside, until she reappeared, like a conjurer's assistant, and pirouetted for me.

"Brilliant." I croaked, soon as I could speak. "Knock out."

"I'm not sure. Hang on, and I'll show you the other one."

Soon she was there again, in a different dress, looking fabulous. "I don't know, Meems." I said

"Mimi." She said

"Sorry. I don't know, they're both-they're _stunning_. You look as good as one of those dummies."

As soon as that was out of my mouth I regretted it, because it didn't exactly sound flattering, but Mimi glowed as though I'd paid her the best compliment in the world.

"Come on-which dress?" She smiled.

"I like the front on that one," I said. I did too. It was the lowest.

"Yeah. But this _colour_-I think I like the other's better on me."

"Get both."

"I can't afford _both_. I really can't afford _one_. But I'm going to get the other one. I think. I'll just try it on one more time."

Fifteen more minutes of waiting and complimenting, and I was trailing Mimi to the cash point, where this icily-perfect woman took her credit card and put the dress into a slick little carrier with real rope handles. As soon as she'd got the bag in her hands, Mimi acted like someone who'd had a shot of something exciting. She danced through the shop in front of me, then announced, "I want to get my face made over."  
"What?"

"A makeover. I want to try that new tawny look."

Now I've seen women undergoing make-up counter humiliation before-they get perched on a stool while some sneering sadist with rigid hair spats on foundation and tells them their eye shadow's all wrong. "You sure you want to?" I asked, but she'd already headed off.

The make up section was serious stuff. It was screened off, and they had these reclining chairs, like dentists' chairs, that they got you to lie on while they did you over. They welcomed Mimi almost wordlessly, as though there was no need to discuss what needed to be done. I watched as they cleaned off her perfect face and resurrected it again, all glowing with clever gold bits on the eyes. I was beginning to run out of compliments by this time, but Mimi hardly noticed. She pranced off and stopped in front of this little stage thing where three dummies were arranged in unlikely but kind of erotic positions. Then she said, "Spot the difference," stepped up beside them, and posed alongside.

OK, she wasn't quite as thin and long as them, no human could be, but she blended in all right. There was some kind of smoke machine at the back sending out this vague blue mist, and it wrapped round all four of them, and they looked so lovely, so lifeless… It gave me the creeps a bit, if you really want to know.

I called out that we should go get a drink and something to eat, there was a long pause, then she stepped forward and got down off the little stage. Then we went to a café and while I was eating and she was playing around with a cappuccino, she announced she was feeling tired and wanted to go home.

"What about tonight?" I said. We could go to that new club on the high street"

She looked unsure, and I added: "You could wear your new dress…"

* * *

We met at ten thirty, and she was wearing her new dress, and she still had on the make-up they'd done for her, and she looked amazing.

It was a good night, except-except I should have been happier than I was, being in a new club with my arm around someone who looked as good as she did. She just wasn't shining, like she had done in the shop. She seemed-drained, somehow, tired and I wasn't getting through to her. She hardly ever looked at me, and only half-listened to the stuff I tried to talk about.

I began to wonder if she really liked me.

I began to wonder why she'd agreed to go out with me in the first place.

We did some dancing, and then we stopped and I got her pinned up against one of the mirrored walls.

"So how come you said yes to me, Mimi?" I asked.

"Said yes?" She repeated.

"Said you'd come out with me?"

In answer she laid both hands flat on my chest and lifted her face up to mine. You don't carry on talking when a girl does that. At the end of the second long kiss, I opened my eyes and saw that hers were wide, staring behind her.

Looking at our reflections in the mirrored wall.

* * *

So, it was set. Our relationship, I mean-what passed for our relationship. We didn't spend much time together in college, because we were doing completely different courses and because Mimi never seemed to want lunch. But we'd meet in the evening sometimes, and we'd spend every Saturday together.

"You're mad," was my friend, Tai's reaction. "Every week?"

"Yep."

"All day?"

"Just about."

"You in love with her or something?"

"No," I said and I realized I wasn't. "It's just…you've seen her."

"Yeah," he replied. "She's a knockout. But come on. All that girly stuff-every Saturday?"

Tai had a sister. He wouldn't understand if I told him that I got totally turned on looking at Mimi look at clothes in shops.

And if that sounds sad, too bad-it's true.

Shops were where she was most exciting, and she was always wilder after she'd brought something. I'm not going to spell it out, but it was like she wouldn't stop me doing anything.

Of course there's only so much you can do on a bench in a shopping precinct.

* * *

After maybe six weeks of shopping every Saturday, I suggested to her we went somewhere else. Just for a change. Swimming. Bowling. Or take my motorbike out to someplace rural and get lunch in a pub.

She looked at me as though I'd lost it.

"Maybe next week," she said. "I need to get shoes this week."

_Next week _never arrived, of course. There was always some article of clothing she _needed. _And I begun to get…bored isn't the right word. I was uneasy. What had been a thrill was becoming a chill. I still liked to watch her, but it made me feel…I don't know. Like I was watching someone in the troes of addiction.

I still hadn't got through to her, either. We had almost no good conversation together, and we never had a laugh. And she'd cry off in the evening time after time, say she was exhausted. I had these thoughts about dumping her, but then I'd look at her and I'd see the jealous faces of the other guys as we walked along the road together, hand in hand, and I'd think-_not yet. Give it a bit longer._

Then something happened in one of my classes. We were reading some Edgar Allen Poe, the nineteenth-century master of horror. Florid, swallowed-the-dictionary stuff, but pretty gripping too. One story particularly got to me. It was about an artist who was painting a portrait of his new wife up in a turret somewhere, making her sit for hours and hours. She drooped and faded, but he was too much of a sod to notice. All the time, the protrait was getting better and better, more life like, and the girl was getting more ill. Then he finishes it, and he's really pleased with it. "This is indeed Life itself!"he says. Then he turns to his wife, and-you've guessed it-she's dead.

I didn't know at first why that story made me think of Mimi, but it did, and I couldn't get it out of my mind. And then I worked out the connection when I was home alone a couple of nights later after quite a few beers.

Mimi was the painting, and the wife. She was _both._

All her make-up, the clothes, the show-that was like the portrait. And all the other sides to Mimi were just…_dying._ If they'd been there in the first place.

I sat there and thought, and made up my mind that I had to dump her.

Soon.

* * *

Then that Saturday something amazing happened, something that turned my decision on its head. We met as usual outside some café and she said: "All I need to get today is a new top. I thought purple, to go with those white trousers I got last week. And then-d' you fancy coming round to my place? Only I've got it to myself." And she fixed me with a slightly scary cinnamon stare.

"Sure," I said, while everything inside me started pumping fit to explode. "Great."

All my thoughts about dumping her fled. I told her I'd see her in Harum, because I wanted to drop into the newsagents and pick up the new _Superbikes, _and then I went straight to the chemist instead and got myself equipped. She must mean it, I told myself, she must _really _mean it-otherwise why make the point that she'd got the place to herself? I had this little niggly goody-goody thought that it wasn't exactly showing character to sleep with a girl the exact same week you'd decided to dump her, but I trod it underfoot. Maybe this is what we need for our relationship, I said to myself. Maybe Mimi's the sort who just finds conversation hard, who finds conversing with others hard.

She must really like me after all, or she wouldn't have asked me back, would she, and made such a big deal about having the place to herself. Maybe this'll be the turning point. And then I stopped any more analysing-if I'm honest, and more _thinking. _Apart from thoughts that involved Mimi letting me take off all her carefully-chosen designer clothes one after another and dumping them on the bed.

* * *

Her apartment was really normal. I don't quite know what I was expecting-something like the cover of _House Beautiful, _maybe, all jugs of white lilies and fat white sofas. But it wasn't. It was ordinary and tidy, and a bit chintzy, and the only really squirmy thing was all the photos of Mimi everywhere. Most homes have a few photos-I myself had just threatened my dad with violence if he didn't remove a particularly nasty one of me with too much hair and no teeth-but this was seriously over the top. Lining the hall, in the kitchen, on top of the telly-everywhere.

"Want to see my room?" Mimi asked.

That was more like it. I followed along behind her, walking past about a hundred more photos of her face, to the end of the corridor, where she pushed open a door.

"After you," she said. I walked in-and jumped backwards like a rat out of a trap, crashing into Mimi. I nearly passed out in fright, I swear. There was this _girl_, behind the door, kind of reaching out towards me, and staring…

"Idiot," Mimi smirked. "That's Tandy. And she can't hurt you."

It was only one of the stupid dummies from Harum, wasn't it. I laughed out loud, but I felt really spooked. My heart was thumping and my mouth had gone all dry. I tried to turn it into a big joke-I got hold of its hard, plastic hand and shook it, and said, "Hi, Tandy. Thanks for scaring the life out of me."

"Give her a kiss, too," Mimi giggled.

_Oh God, _I thought, but I craned up and landed a smacker on its nasty col mouth.

"How d'you get hold of it, Mimi?" I asked. "Her, I mean."

"They have a big bin, behind Harum, and they chuck bits of the dummies out sometimes. A leg, or an arm-I got her head and torso at the same time, and the rest I just kind of collected. And put her together."

Gruesome, I thought. "Great," I muttered. "I've got other bits too. Look." And she pointed over to some shelves at the far side of her room, and there, lined up like some waxworks horror film, were three hands, two arms and a disembodied head.

The head was particularly disturbing.

"That's Kathy," Mimi said, fondly. "She's my make-up double. I try out faces on her, and then I use them on myself."

This was getting creepier by the minute. The hands all had different coloured nail varnishes on.

"You try stuff on them as well?" I asked.

Mimi shrugged. "Sometimes."

"So…_Tandy_…she's like your big…Barbie?" I went on. "Life in plastic-it's fantastic?"

"I try out my outfits on her," she answered, rather coldly. "Colour combinations, stuff like that."

"Why don't you just try them out on yourself?"

Mimi didn't answer. Turning her back on me, she walked into the middle of the room. Clothes covered every surface; hanging from the picture rail, piled on the chair. Shop carrier-bags crammed with new gear were stacked against the walls. The wardrobe door was open, overflowing with dresses. Mimi pulled a feather boa from a hook, went up to Tandy, wrapped it round her neck, and started crooning to her.

"You're beautiful," she was murmuring. "Don't listen to him. You're _beautiful._"

As the start to a seduction scene, this was not going well. I felt _in the way_, like I was intruding on the two of them. And her over-stuffed room gave me the heebies. I felt about as turned on as a cold kipper. Just the thought of trying to make out with those two dead, perfect dummy faces watching me was too much.

Pull yourself together, I nagged myself. How often does a girl ask you to her room?

"Come on Mimi," I said. "We haven't come here to play dollies." And I got hold of her, all kind of he-man, and pulled her onto the bed, and started kissing her.

But I stayed like a cold kipper. Every time I shut my eyes I'd think of that weird dummy, and the way it stared, and kind of clawed its hands out towards me, and every time I opened my eyes, I'd-well, I'd see it, wouldn't I. And the severed head, as well. So I'd shut my eyes again and land my mouth on Mimi's and I felt like…I felt like I was kissing the dummy. Talk about an anti-aphrodisiac. I got as far as undoing the top two buttons on Mimi's shirt and then it was like I flipped. I jumped up, made some muttered excuse about a migraine kicking in, and legged it down the corridor at the speed of light.

"I'll see you, Mimi," I called back, at the front door. "I'll phone."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **It's done. Finished in three chapters.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Digimon.

* * *

Chapter Three

I didn't though. Instead, I thought about how I was going to finish with her that Saturday, what I was going to say. And then Friday night I got a phone call. It was Mimi, warmer than I'd ever heard her before. "I missed you, baby!" she cooed. "Where've you been?"

Um, you know," I said. "Work and stuff."

"You know what you said about going out to the country, on your motorbike?" she went on. "Well, why don't we go tomorrow? It's s'posed to be really sunny."

"Um, well I-well I…"

"Yes?" said Mimi.

"OK. I'll pick you up. Twelve o' clock?"

Mr Make-a-Decision-and-Act-on-It, that's me. Mr Firm-Resolve. I told myself I wasn't really backing down. I told myself I could just as soon finish with her on a day trip to the the country as outside some café, where we usually met. It was rubbish, of course. Now all my mental practising was out of sync. When I rehearsed my "we're through" speech in my head, I saw shops. How could I dump her in the country, near a load of trees?

And anyway-she was trying harder, now. Maybe she'd realised I was going to dump her, and she was doing what she needed to stop that happening, but she was defintely bringing more to the relationship. She was the one who'd _suggested _going to the country. This was a new development. Maybe she did have other sides to her. Maybe I'd got it wrong.

Whatever. She looked fantastic when I drove round to collect her-so fantastic that I forgot about that nasty session in her bedroom. She'd put her hair up, so you could see even more of that amazing face, and she had this wonderful silky-looking sleeveless top on.

"You should put something over that," I said, reluctantly.

"I won't be cold," she answered, "I'll be up close to you."

_Woah._

"It's more for protection…" I began, then tailed off. She looked gorgeous. I handed her my spare helmet, and tried to do it up for her, but she pushed me off because she said I was screwing up her hair. Then we went outside and she put her hands on my shoulders as she climbed up behind me on the bike.

Talk about being split in two-I was in an agony of indecision. As we headed out of the city my mind was making up one list of why I should dump her and another list of why I shouldn't, and trying to compare the two-and maybe that's why I didn't react as quickly as I could've done when that great van turned out of a slip-road too quickly and careered across the lanes into us and sent us skidding.

* * *

"Absolutely not your fault, son," the policeman said. "Nothing you could've done."

That's kind of comforting to hear when your leg's twisted at a nasty angle and your shoulder's killing you and you feel like half the skin's come off your arms and you can't see straight without stars. Someone was pushing a needle into my arm.

"What about Mimi?" I groaned. "Is she-is she-?"

"She'll be fine. Her face is a bit cut up and she's lost some blood, but she'll be fine."

_Her face is a bit cut up. _I thought of Mimi's perfect skin and I could feel myself breaking into a sweat.

"_Why _is she-_Where _is she-?"

"Well, her helmet came off as she skidded. Looks like the strap wasn't done up properly."

_Oh God, oh no! _"That was my _fault_," I wailed. "I should've checked it, it's old but it's _fine _if you—"

"Hey, hey, calm down, son. It did the job it was supposed to do-it kept her alive. Now let's get you into the ambulance."

I wanted to ask him how badly she was hurt, how much of her face, but whatever they'd given me took over and I was out.

* * *

They told me I'd only be in hospital for about a week. My leg was damaged the worst-I'd need physio for a while and maybe an operation on the knee later, they said, but it wasn't like I'd never walk again or anything. Everyone kept telling me how lucky I'd been , which I couldn't get my head round-why is it lucky to be mown down by some casual madman who shouldn't have been in charge of a trike, let alone a van? Still, I suppose they meant it could have been a lot worse.

Which it could have been. It was for Mimi.

They stitched up her face and neck as best they could, but you could tell there'd be some serious scarring. It was all down one side, the side that had skidded along the ground. When they tried telling her she was lucky, lucky her helmet had protected her skull on impact, she'd just stare blankly at them. Superficial wounding, they called it, but for her, it was as deep as it could go.

I gave up all thoughts of dumping her, of course. I couldn't have been that cruel. And as soon as they let me get up and about with crutches I hobbled down to her ward to see her.

I found her bed at the end of the ward, with the certains half closed around it. A youngish-looking nurse came round from the other side of the bed and said, a bit starchily, "Hi. You must be the owner of the motorbike."

"Yeah." I answered, defensively.

"You look like you got off lighter that she did."

"I did. And look-don't try to make me feel worse than I do already, 'cos that's impossible, OK?"

She smiled at me then, and her face softened. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse," she said. "I heard it wasn't your fault."

In the bed, Mimi hadn't moved. Half her face and all down one arm was covered by white gauze and plasters. "How is she?" I muttered.

"Why don't you ask her?" said the nurse. "You're supposed to be her boyfriend, aren't you?"

I moved round the bed, and nervously put my hand over one of hers. Bandages came almost to the tips of her fingers.

"Mimi?" I whispered. "It's me."

Her eye, the one eye I could see, flicked open, registered me, and closed again.

"Mimi? Are you OK?"

The nurse gave a sort of sigh, then she moved away, saying, "I'll leave you to it."

I really wanted to ask her to stay, but I didn't. "Mimi," I said again. "Mimi."

Mimi opened her eye again and fixed it on me. Then her mouth opened. You could see nearly all of that, beside the bandages. "Why?" she croaked. "_Why?"_

"I _know_," I said, desperately. "I know. It's the pits, it's-I can't tell you. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Meems. Mimi."

There was a long silence, and her eye closed again and tears welled out from beneath her eyelid. I began to feel I couldn't bear it, like I had to call for a nurse or something. "They told me about you," I said, urgently, desperate to comfort.

"It's not that bad, really it's not. They said the worst was your neck and they might try skin grafts and you can wear high collars and stuff, can't you, Mimi…"

I drivelled to a halt, and looked wildly about the wards, but there was no one there, no one. "It won't look that bad," I repeated, helplessly.

Her cinnamon eye opened again, and looked at me with such blank hatred I thought I might pass out. "Go away," she hissed.

I stumbled to my feet and swung out of the ward with my crutches going as fast as I could. In the corridor outside, the nurse called out, "How d'you get on?"

"She won't speak to me," I said. "She told me to go away."

The nurse shrugged. "Can't blame her, I guess."

"No. No, I s'pose not. But she looked at me like she wanted me to die."

"Well, as I say, you can't blame her," the nurse repeated, depressingly, adding, "You might have stayed with her a bit longer." Then she shrugged, dimissing me, and I rememberd the way Mimi's one eye had closed and I suddenly felt terrible-lonely, scared, awful.

"I couldn't," I muttered, desperately. " I mean-I-I _couldn't_."

"But you're her boyfriend."

"I don't feel like her boyfriend. We just didn't _connect_. We had nothing to talk about. And I-it's-it's really sick. I was going to finish with her. The day we had the accident."

The nurse folded her arms and looked at me, really hard. "And will you now?"

"What-finish with her? _No_. Of course not. Look-I feel _awful _about this. It was my fault, it was my bike. And I should have made her wear my jacket-I should have _made _her let me do the helmet up properly. I feel so guilty. I-I just wish it could've been me and not her, I'd give _anything_--"

"Why wouldn't she let you do the helmet up?"

"She pushed me off-said I was messing up her hair."

"Oh, good grief. Look, it's not that bad. Especially not on the face. It'll heal, over time. Stop beating yourself up."

"I can't help it."

"No, I know. Look, love, I can't stand here chatting. Go and get yourself a cup of coffee or something."

"OK," I muttered. "Look- I'll come back in the morning, OK?"

She nodded, and smiled, and I felt a tiny bit better as I heaved my way down to the canteen.

* * *

The next day, I hobbled along to the woman's ward to visit Mimi once more. She'd been moved to the centre of the ward, probably in an attempt to cheer her up, but she looked more isolated then ever. All the other beds had at least one visitor beside them, she had none. One bunch of sad-looking flowers that should have been ditched days ago drooped in a vase by the head.

"Mimi?" I called, gently. "Mimi?"

She opened her one free eye and looked.

"Why are you here?"

"Well, I--"

"I don't want to see you."

"Mimi--look. You'll come through this, I'll help you. I'll--"

"_Leave me alone_."

It was so venomous, so absolute, I turned away immediately. The nurse from yesterday appeared at my side and smiled at me, consolingly. "She's bound to be a bit tense," she said. "The bandages come off tomorrow."

"Oh God. Cover all the mirrors."

"That's not a nice thing to say."

"No. Sorry. It's just--"

"It's only a few scars, you know. You're going to have to tell her it's what's inside that counts, not what's outside."

I looked at the nurse hopelessly, couldn't think of a thing to say.

"You boys are all the same," she said, impatiently. "No wonder young girls are so hung up on what they look like. And that one--she needs support now. She's had no one to visit her, only you. We can't get in touch with her mother. You know her family?"

I shook my head.

"Something weird going on there," she went on. "We're really worried about her." Then she paused, looking stright at me. "D' you know someone called tandy?"

I felt my stomach lurch, my face freeze over into vacancy. I shook my head.

"Or Kathy? Know a Kathy?" They must be friends of hers, I reckon. In her sleep, she's crying out for them. Calling out for them."

I hobbled away.

* * *

Back in my ward, I found my doctor waiting impatiently. "Ah--the wanderer returns!" he booms. "Obviously no need to keep you in here any longer. Let me see you walk without those crutches." And he just about snatched them away from me. i felt like falling over, just to show him, but I didn't. I took three awkward steps along the lino instead.

"Excellant!" he pronounced. "You can go first thing tomorrow, lad. We need your bed."

Terrific. Actually, it _was _terrific. I was desperate to get out. Desperate to sleep in real darkness and silence once more. Desperate to- desperate to get away.

The next day I collected a sheaf of stuff about outpatients' visits and exercises, then Dad arrived at nine sharp to collect me. He asked if I wanted to say goodbye to Mimi, and I said no, better not. Then, later, he offered to drive me back for the evening visit, but I said maybe tomorrow.

I told myself Mimi wouldn't want to see anyone right away, not once her bandages had come off. I told myself I was letting her get used to it first.

The fact is, I was scared. I felt really, really sorry for her - but I was scared of her more. Scared of what was going on inside her. I left it for two whole days before I phoned the hospital, got through to her wards at the start of the evening shift. "She discharged herself," said the sister, tartly. "Unofficially."

"You mean she--"

"Walked out. Yes. Two hours ago, in fact. Medically, she was fine to go. We're a bit concerned with how she's coping with the disfigurement, though. And we still haven't got in touch with her family. I think a health visitor's going to call...going to try to, anyway. We see worse cases all the time, frankly."

I rang off. Then I headed for my room and threw myself down on the bed. With everything in me I wished I'd never gotten involved with Mimi. I just wanted to turn away, forget about her. I knew I should go to her house, but I couldn't face it. I remembered her creepy bedroom, and the dummies, and all the photos everywhere. And who was her mum - what kind of mum doesn't visit her daughter in hospital? I sat there, all hunched up and screwed up, and this nold memory filtered into my head. It was when I'd still been trailing Mimi, trying to get her to notice me. I'd sat at the next table along from her and her mates, and I'd listened to their chat, all about this girl they knew who had this really big birthmark on her face. They were saying how well she coped with it- how she covered it up with make-up, although it couldn't hide it completely, and just got _on_ with things. Most of the girls there were saying how they admired her; wondering whether they'd cope as well. And then Mimi said she couldn't stand it, being like that.

Mimi said she'd rather be dead.

I had to go see her. I had to see she was all right. I got off my bed and went down to where my motorbike was. Dad had come over all "get the boy back in the saddle" and had fixed it for me. I felt pretty nervous, wheeling it out, because it was the first time I'd got it out since the crash, but I was driven on by this weird sense of urgency. I climbed on, and revved it, and legged it on to the road. Then I forgot about being nervous about riding it. Panic was filling me; I accelerated fast. I could feel my damaged knee aching, protesting, but I ignored it.

I screeched to a halt outside the apartment complex, ran as fast as I could up the stairs and banged on the door. No answer. I peeked through the letter box. The apartment was in darkness. I banged again, louder. Nothing. Somehow, I knew there'd be nothing. I turned, headed back down to the road, and as I swung the bike round tis headlights shone on something lying in the gutter.

It was a hand, and dummy hand. Three red nails, two purple ones. The sight of it flooded me with an inexplicable fear. It meant something-I knew it meant something-something bad. I got on the bike and accelerated off.

I was on the outskirts of the city when I heard the sirens. A pack of them, police cars and fire engines, screaming like furies, heading into the centre where the shops were. The noise filled my head like terror. I slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road, checked my mirrors, and wrenched the bike round in a U-turn. Then I floored the accelerator, following the sirens back into the city.

I knew, somehow I knew, exactly where they were headed.

When I reached the precinct I turned the engine off and legged the bike the last few metres. Then I stopped. Harum was going up in flames, huge bright flames. Firemen were breaking windows with axes and battling into the shop, hoses on at full force. People were running from all directions towards the blaze, two policemen were trying to hold them back.

Mimi's shop. She knew that shop better than anybody. She'd know where its weak points were. She'd know where to break in. And then a fireman ran from the shop, mouth agape in horror. "There's a _pile_," he croaked, "_bodies_--"

I left the bike and started to run. I pushed past the fireman, through the smashed door of the shop. The groundfloor flames had been doused; thick smoke swirled, making my eyes stream. In the centre of the store was a pile of legs and arms and heads, like the clear-up after a massacre, smoking, smoldering. My legs had collapsed in shock at the same time as my brain telling me it was OK, it was OK. I knew what they were.

I walked towards the pile. As the smoke cleared, you could see it wasn't human. Duummies. Beautiful dummies. Legs, faces, hair, arms, melting, curling, blackened, ruined. I saw Tandy, just before her face fell in. And one arm, right at the top, that wasn't melting. It was burning, like meat burns on a barbecue, like flesh burns.

_You're not like them now, Mimi, _I thought, stupidly. _You're a lot less like them dead than alive._


End file.
